


The right one

by Saetha



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Conversations, Fluff, M/M, Post-Coital Cuddling, Post-Endgame, Sam Wilson appreciation squad, Softness, also samstevebucky if you want to read it like that, lots of theories about the endgame ending too, seriously this is very soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 08:35:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18687922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saetha/pseuds/Saetha
Summary: Sam is a hero of his own, with or without the shield, and Bucky hopes that he’ll recognise it soon enough. America doesn’t need Steve 2.0. It needs Sam Wilson.“I’m going to make some coffee,” Steve says, with a glance at them. His sensitivity to the moods between them hasn’t changed.“So. Seems like the other Bucky is just as stupid about you as I am,” Bucky says with a smile, rolling over to his side.*Some conversations between Sam, Steve and Bucky. Endgame Spoilers ahead.





	The right one

**Author's Note:**

> LOOK WHO'S BACK ON HIS ALLCAPS BULLSHIT AGAIN. Such joy.
> 
> And for all those waiting for the 'Dark as Blood'-sequel - yep, I picked it back up again. :)

 

“He told you, didn’t he.”

Sam’s voice breaks through the quiet. Bucky looks up from the book he’s reading and over at him. He’s been waiting for this conversation ever since Steve returned to them after a lifetime away instead of mere seconds; has been waiting for Sam to come to the only obvious conclusion there is. Sam’s expression is guarded, a spark of anger already dancing in his eyes. It’s well justified.

Bucky puts his book down and sighs.

“Yes.”

Sam takes a deep breath and lets it out again. He doesn’t raise his voice; Steve is taking a nap in the room next door, and the old man needs his rest.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Steve told me not to.” Bucky looks away from Sam, so he doesn’t have to see the disappointment in his expression. He stares up at the ceiling, where a fan is whirring gently, stirring up the air in the guest bedroom at Steve’s little house.

“And since when do you always listen to Steve?” Sam’s brow is drawn in a light frown. Bucky sighs again and rubs his face; he knows he deserves Sam’s anger, even if his decision had made sense at the time.

_‘Listen, Steve. If you’re already going back, you can as well do it properly. You know how Banner told us about the parallel timeline stuff?’ Bucky waits for the dots to connect in Steve’s mind. A part of him hates himself for the suggestion, but the other part knows that this is what Steve needs right now, more than anything that Sam or Bucky could give him. And it wouldn’t be forever, would it? They’d still get him back, with only a few seconds lost._

_‘I cannot leave you behind.’ Steve looks earnest and somehow lost. Nat's and Tony’s deaths have left them all reeling, but him far worse than most others. He needs an anchor._

_‘You wouldn’t. It’d only be a few seconds for us.’ Bucky breathes in deeply and reaches out to grasp Steve’s shoulder. ‘Go. Tell Peggy that I miss her. Bring her a bottle of whiskey from me.’_

_Steve grasps his hand before he gives him half a nod, doubt still clouding eyes._

_‘Don’t tell Sam?’ he asks, his voice pleading. ‘I don’t want him to worry. Or be angry that I’m just…leaving.’_

_‘He’ll be more than angry.’ Bucky shakes his head. ‘He deserves better than that, Steve. You should tell him.’_

_‘Just…leave this one to me. This time.’_

_Bucky sighs but nods, against his better judgement._

“I told him to let you know,” he says, fingers drawing circles on the blanket they’re lying on. “But he said he didn’t want you to worry. And that the right point in time just never came up.”

“What a stupid-“ Sam mutters under his breath, knuckles pressing into the bed. “Why didn’t he trust me with this?”

“Sam.” Bucky reaches out, fingertips dragging over Sam’s knuckles until he relaxes a little. “You have every right to be angry. Hell, if I was in your place, I’d be _fuming_. But it doesn’t have anything to do with trust. Steve _trusts_ you, in a way he doesn’t even trust me sometimes. He just didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Stubborn prick,” Sam mumbles, flopping down on the pillow next to Bucky again. He’s still angry; Bucky hopes that the anger will make Steve think twice about betraying Sam’s trust like that again. “I don’t know how you survived growing up with him.”

“Well.” A stupid little smile steals itself on Bucky’s face at the memory. “I was doing underground boxing at the time. More than enough opportunity to vent my frustration. And once the war came, I had Peggy to help.”

“What was she like, then? Steve’s told me about her, several times. Actually even introduced me to her, but she was very ill at that point, so…” Sam shrugs. His eyes are sad, and Bucky resists the impulse to reach out and touch his face. It’ll always be beautiful to him, no matter the moods playing across it.

“She was Steve’s equal in pretty much every way,” he begins. “Just as headstrong, but perhaps a little more grounded. Not afraid to tell him when he’d fucked up. You two would’ve gotten on like a house on fire. She’d have loved you. And you her.”

Sam lets out another breath.

“You think it was her idea or Steve’s to give me the shield?” he asks.

“Actually, it was yours. Together.”

They both turn towards the door. Steve shuffles fully into the room and shrugs as he sits down on the chair next to their bed.

“I should’ve told you, Sam. I’m sorry.” He actually looks apologetic as he says it, but then, he’s had decades to think about it where they’ve only had a week or so.

“Yes, you should have.” Sam frowns, but looks slightly more mollified now. Bucky know that this won’t quite be the end of it, but for now, they’re both focused on what Steve had been saying beforehand.

“You said it was _Sam’s_ _and my_ idea?” he asks. “But how-“

“Did you truly think I’d leave you to rot in Siberia?” Something hard enters Steve’s eyes, the same unforgiving flint that every Hydra agent he’s fought so far has seen before breathing their last. “I was already creating a new timeline. Could as well do it right.”

 _Oh_. It fills him with warmth, the thought that out there, somewhere, there is a universe where the Winter Soldier could never wreak as much havoc.

“You were the one with the shield, once I’d decided that I could live without the serum and asked Howard to help negate his effects. And then we met Sam, and. Well.” Steve’s gaze never leaves Bucky’s face as he says the words, although Bucky doesn’t know what he’s looking for. The thought of him as Captain America is alien to him; right here, in this universe, he wouldn’t be ready for it. He’s hardly had the time to put himself back together and figure out who he is, what kind of person he wants to be. He cannot be someone else, not yet.

Sam seems to realise where his thoughts are going, bumping his shoulder slightly into Bucky’s.

“But how do I fit into the equation?” he demands to know. “How did the shield, you, everything-“

“Well.” Steve clears his throat. “Some things, apparently, aren’t so different no matter which time you’re in.” His gaze travels back and forth between him and Bucky again, before he continues. “It took Bucky almost getting himself killed once or twice, because he was too busy staring at you to properly pay attention to his surroundings, before he asked you out.”

Sam sniggers quietly and Bucky elbows him in the ribs. Sam retaliates by hitting him with a pillow, neither of them paying attention to Steve rolling his eyes.

“So, you’re telling me that we’re some kind of star-crossed lovers now? That’s _terrible_ ,” Bucky says. He can’t help the slightly fond smile stealing onto his lips, however.

“Wow.” That’s all that Sam can contribute. “Please tell me alternative timeline-me at least had enough brains to buy a double bed with five separate blankets before asking Bucky to sleep over.”

“I’m not that terrible at blanket hogging,” Bucky sniffs in response.

“You absolutely are.” Sam gives him that deadpan stare that he’s so fond of, and Bucky has to admit that maybe, just maybe, he’s got a point.

“He absolutely is,” Steve confirms, and Bucky simply gives up in the face of the two of them teaming up against him. He rolls his eyes at them.

“I just can’t win,” he says, and flops dramatically down on his back. Sam laughs and throws the pillow at him again. “Either way, I’m glad that we have a shield again. And that the right person will be carrying it.”

Sam throws him another glance and Bucky knows that this is an argument that they might have again – it’s not necessarily that he has to convince Sam that he’s the right man for the job of Captain America. It’s that he has to convince him that he has to stop comparing himself to Steve, that he has to find his own path. He’s a hero of his own, with or without the shield, and Bucky hopes that he’ll recognise it soon enough. America doesn’t need Steve 2.0. It needs Sam Wilson.

“I’m going to make some coffee,” Steve says, with a glance at them. His sensitivity to the moods between them hasn’t changed.

“So. Seems like the other Bucky is just as stupid about you as I am,” Bucky says with a smile, rolling over to his side.

“Clearly, my good looks just transcend time and space,” Sam deadpans in response, raising his eyebrows. Bucky can’t help it, he has to laugh again, delighting in the way it makes the edges of Sam’s lips twitch.

“That they do,” he answers softly. He reaches out this time, tracing the line of Sam’s cheek with a careful touch. Sam looks at him, truly _looks_ at him, and this is something that Bucky has always loved about him – once he trusts, Sam’s gaze is an open book, his emotions plain to see. It’s beautiful and endearing all at once, and he could drown in it all day. He cannot help himself and scoots closer, giving Sam plenty of time to move away.

Their kiss is almost chaste, a sweet and slow thing that acknowledges the trust they have in each other, all the time they have spent together. Sam drapes an arm around him, and Bucky laughs quietly, fingers carding through the short stubble on Sam’s scalp.

“Are you still angry?” he asks, quietly. Sam frowns, one of his fingers following the line of muscles down Bucky’s throat, continuing on to his chest.

“Yes,” he says. Then he kisses him again. “But we’ll work it out.”

“I trust you,” is all that Bucky can offer, and perhaps the greatest gift that he can give. For now, he gets lost in the way Sam’s lips are ghosting over him, in the perfection of Sam’s skin under his fingers, the texture of his hair and beard, electrifying where they press against his body. He’ll never tire of it.

“So, wanna show me what Captain America is capable of?” He grins and laughs when Sam whacks him in the face with another pillow.

“Well, I do need a loyal sidekick,” Sam muses, even as he is busy unbuttoning Bucky’s shirt. Bucky pushes his own hands under Sam’s, slowly drawing up the fabric until it’s bunched around Sam’s shoulders. The muscles in his back are perfect, and he revels in the way they move under Sam’s skin as they divest each other of their clothing.

“I’ll always be by your side, if that’s what you mean,” Bucky mumbles into the crook of Sam’s neck, his fingers reaching down and stroking Sam’s dick.

“You have a strange sense for romance, Barnes,” Sam pants. He arches into Bucky’s touch and _yes_ , this is what they both need, the feeling of being pressed so tightly against each other there’s no space for thought, for any kind of _doubt_ -

“Always at your service.” Bucky’s voice is coarse and harsh now, with Sam so perfect against him, heat and a burning need filling him up from head to toe. He rocks up against him, fingers digging into the skin on Sam’s back. “Sam-“ he gasps.

“Fuck,” Sam clenches out between his teeth, and it doesn’t take long for them to come. Sam collapses on his chest, pressing his cheek against his skin. Bucky reaches out trawls his fingers down Sam’s neck again.

“You’re perfect,” he whispers. Sam just smothers a little laugh on his chest.

“You aren’t too bad yourself,” he shoots back and Bucky grins, loving the way that the good humour makes Sam’s eyes sparkle. They bask in each other’s presence a while longer, trading quips back and forth, before Sam frowns.

“Where’s Steve?” he asks. “Didn’t he just want to go make some coffee?”

“He did,” Bucky confirms. “But what did you expect? For him to barge in right when we were going at it? Even Steve knows better than that.”

“Well, he could’ve just joined in.” Sam sighs, rubs his forehead. “We should probably go take a look. Can’t leave him in the kitchen for too long. Might set the stove on fire again.”

“Ha.” Bucky barks out a single laugh. It isn’t even much of an exaggeration; the great kitchen fire of 2016 bears witness to that.

They clean themselves up and get dressed as well as they can, before sneaking into the kitchen. The smell of fresh coffee is indeed in the air, but Steve is nowhere to be found.

“Steve?” Sam calls out, and there’s just a slight tinge of worry in his voice that echoes in Bucky’s heart. They look at each other, before Bucky nods at the patio door.

Stepping outside, they are greeted by an unexpected, yet peaceful image – Steve is in his favourite rocking chair at the edge of the patio, coffee mug on a little stool next to him. He doesn’t move when they come close, and for a single moment Bucky feels a deathly stab of fear inside his chest. But then he sees Steve’s chest rising and falling slowly, and he breathes a sigh of relief.

Sam steps past him, his gaze falling on something on Steve’s lap. A soft and strange expression flickers across his face, and Bucky soon sees why – there’s a sketchpad on Steve’s lap, open on a picture that he must’ve drawn whilst they were still inside. Sam is in it, carrying the shield and wearing a Captain America suit. Bucky is standing next to him, arm slung around his shoulders and grinning widely, with Steve and Peggy, already older, sitting at their sides and beaming with pride.

Bucky looks up again and if Sam’s eyes are glistening strangely wet, he doesn’t say a word, especially since his own are burning, too.

He reaches out, grasping Sam’s hand.

Together they stand, listening to the wind in the trees and the soft sound of Steve’s breathing next to them.

 


End file.
